


Exception To The Rules

by bluflamingo



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/pseuds/bluflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-traumatic mission, John and Cam come to a realization. And then try to figure out what to do having got there; SGC AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exception To The Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Written for whiteravenswing, who won me in the Hurricane Sandy auction

Cam gets out of the SGC infirmary on a Friday, not that it matters. Weekends don't really mean much when the team is on stand-down, between Cam's injuries and the week they spent off-world and out of contact, tracking him down. And, though no-one's saying it, because of the way the team looked, bursting into the cell to rescue him. Because of how Cam jerks awake almost every hour, disoriented and reaching for his team, one of whom is always right there.

"I want you back here in a week," Carolyn says, frowning at Cam over her tablet. "And call me if anything changes, no matter how minor."

Cam tries a smile that he immediately regrets, the movement pulling at his stitches and the bruising on his jaw. "You know me, doc."

"I do, that's why I'm worried." Carolyn's smile doesn't look any better than Cam's feels. "Where's your ride?"

"Right here." John rattles the keys to Cam's car as he steps around the privacy curtain. He's in jeans and the soft blue shirt Cam recognizes from bad days, the bruising on his collarbone barely visible. "We breaking out of here?"

Cam double-checks with Carolyn, who nods. "We're breaking out," he agrees.

He and Carolyn already had the argument over whether he takes a wheelchair, but Cam's only been back in the field a year since the crash, and he can't face being wheeled out of another hospital. John does a decent job of not hovering too much as they make their slow way down the corridors, so Cam returns the favor by not wincing too visibly at how much moving hurts. 

"Cadman and Lorne?" he asks, leaning against the back wall of the elevator and distracting himself from the knowledge that he'll have to move again before he can sit still in the car for a while.

"Pretty sure they're at your apartment." John shuffles his feet a little, and Cam's not at all surprised when he adds, "I gave them my key."

"John –" It's ten thirty in the morning, but Cam's already exhausted. He just wants to go home and fall asleep in his own bed, where he feels safe. They reach their floor before he can explain this though.

John waits until a couple of airmen pass them, then says, quietly, "They're freaked out. Half an hour, max, but they need it."

John's always known just which of Cam's buttons to push, and this is no exception. Cadman and Lorne came into the SGC together, but they're both still new to it, even more so than John and Cam, and this was bad. "I make no promises about staying awake for the whole half hour."

It's the kind of remark that should get him a smile, at least. Instead, John looks away, his shoulders tensing, and Cam knows John's remembering how Cam flailed awake screaming at three in the morning, smelling burning flesh and begging. More than anything, Cam wants to reach for John, the way he could in the middle of the night.

"It's gonna be okay," John says. He sounds the way Cam feels, like he doesn't believe it, wants to and doesn't know how.

*

It's testament to how messed up Cam's head still is that he doesn't realize John's not left until the sun's starting to set. They've been watching movies since Cadman and Lorne went home – well, John's been watching, Cam's been mostly sleeping – and when John gets up to switch out Die Hard 2, the fading light throws shadows across his back.

Cam pushes himself the rest of the way to awake, trying to shake off the cloudy feeling from the painkillers. "Still here."

John rocks back onto his heels, twisting over his shoulder to look up at Cam. "Still here," he agrees, like he knows Cam wasn't really asking. 

Cam watches him twist back. Drugs and exhaustion are making his thoughts sluggish, but the feeling of 'safe' that comes from having John around is bright and present. It's always been like that, since the first time they fell into bed together, the handful of times it happened again, through John's short-lived marriage and Cam's crash and a friendship that's lasted almost half their lives. 

"You're staying?" This time it does come out as a question, one that makes John turn again, DVD case open in one hand as he studies Cam.

"I'm staying," is all he says, and Cam means to say more, he knows he does, but exhaustion is pulling him back down, and he can't fight it. 

He wakes up to fire, the sound and the smell and the golden, dancing light of it. It hurts, pain that he can't do anything but scream through, trying to curl his hand away, protect himself. It's useless though, he knows it's useless because they like when he fights, they don't even care when he begs, promises, anything just make it stop, make it stop, it _hurts_.

There's a hand, light on his right knee where he doesn't hurt. For a moment, he has no idea who it is, but that doesn't seem to matter, because his brain is already registering the person as safe, as don't-fight-don't-hit-keep-still-breathe. 

"John," he says, before he knows he's going to, and the world snaps back into place so fast he feels dizzy. Running water, the setting sun blazing out, and his brain supplied the smell and pain of it, a memory he's not sure he'll ever shake.

"Yeah." John's voice is rough. When Cam looks down, John's face matches it, pale and frightened. Cam curls his burned hand in closer to his body, instinctively trying to protect it from a threat that's over, or maybe trying to keep John from having to see it. Carolyn says they can fix him, good as new and like it never happened, but he needs to heal first. "Nightmare?"

"Memory," Cam says, same as he has every time John's asked. John looks away and down, blows out a harsh breath. His hand stays where it is, light on Cam's knee like he's forgotten it's there. Cam doesn't want to remind him; he maybe needs the touch more than he'd like to admit. "I thought –"

It feels stupid now – this is just his apartment, it's not magic, but it's been his since he came to the SGC, with his books and his pans in the kitchen cupboards and his guest room that's more John's room, really, the same way John's guest room is half Cam's.

"Hey," John says, and then doesn't say anything else, just looks at Cam, who looks back. He learned to read John a long time ago, so it's not hard now: worry and fear, a little residual adrenaline - probably from when Cam screamed – concern, sympathy, and maybe Cam's just seeing what he wants, seeing his own feelings reflected back, but that's not enough to stop him. He and John have never had a problem saying no to each other.

Cam cups John's cheek with his good hand, feels stubble and rough skin against his palm. "Would you..?"

John reaches up slowly, covering Cam's hand with his own. "You're hurt," he says, an observation, not a protest. Cam and John have also never had a problem doing this around someone's injuries. It's become a ritual, almost. "What do you want?"

Cam uses the hand still on John to pull him in a little, between Cam's legs. It's more than enough for John to figure out, because Cam can talk about feelings till the proverbial cows come home, but even when he forces out the words for what he wants to do with someone else, he stutters and blushes bright red. 

John slides his hands up Cam's thighs and rests one on the waistband of his sweatpants, then hesitates. "You okay?"

Cam shifts a little, for all the good it does him. His burned hand aches down to the bone, his hips feel stiff and sore like after the crash, and if he moves too fast, the world blurs gently. He's not even sure he'll be able to get off, but it doesn't matter. Right now, he just wants to be close with John.

John maybe reads some of this in his face, because he doesn't press for an answer, just eases Cam's pants down enough to pull his cock free. Cam tries not to think about how he looks – bandages and bruises aren't sexy, and neither is the awkward way his pants are pushed to his thighs. It only matters for a moment, because John wraps his hand round Cam's still soft cock and ducks down to suck at the head. 

It feels nice, which probably isn't something Cam should say to him. Instead, he rests his good hand on the back of John's neck, running his fingers into the ends of John's hair where it's starting to grow out. John huffs at the touch, tilting his head to get more of it as he slides his mouth further down Cam's cock. Cam's breath catches when the head of his cock rubs against the roof of John's mouth, warm and wet. He hasn't been with anyone since before the crash. It's enough to push past the pain and the lingering terror of being captured, so that Cam has to force himself not to try to move into it, knowing how that will hurt.

He's more than halfway to hard as John gets a rhythm going, taking Cam in deep then pulling back to suck at the head. Cam lets his head drop back, closing his eyes to block out the blurring view of the ceiling. He focuses on John, his warm skin and soft hair, the feel of his mouth on Cam's cock, easing him past the way his body aches and into something better, a kind of slow, simple pleasure that Cam's always associated with John.

When John slides his free hand into Cam's pants and fondles his balls, Cam gasps audibly, a jolt of sharper pleasure zinging up his spine. "Yeah," he says, too loud in the quiet apartment. "John."

John sucks harder, but his hand stays careful and soft, the one thing that doesn't hurt at all. It feels good and Cam wants – he doesn't even know. He likes John, he likes this, but it's not enough, or not right. He feels like his orgasm's just out of his reach, like a frustrating thought that he can't get a grip on, wants to move into and can't because it's going to hurt and he doesn't want it to hurt, he doesn't want to be broken all over again.

Cam doesn't realize he's half-sobbing until John's pulling off, looking up at Cam with a worried frown. "Don't –" Cam starts, tightening his grip on John's neck. He doesn't even know what he wants, he just knows that he _wants_ it.

John turns his head enough to rub his cheek against Cam's arm. "I'm here," he says quietly. "So are you. We got you."

Cam's breath is still catching, his chest aching. He's on the edge of a panic attack, the world fading out at the borders. He holds onto John, tries to fight it down. He swallows convulsively. If he opens his mouth, he's going to beg, going to say, _Help me._

"Breathe." John's voice sounds too far away to hold onto. The world is sliding sideways, then John moves, pulls his hand out of Cam's pants. It shouldn't be enough, but it feels out of place in the midst of Cam's panic, and that breaks him out of it, just a little. 

"Right here," John says again. Cam reaches for him, half-blind, and feels skin under his hand, holds on and pulls. The couch dips under what's probably John's knee, then John's hand is on his shoulder, his arm curling round Cam with all the discomfort that Cam's come to associate with John initiating this kind of physical contact. He doesn't care, just leans into John, breathes in the scent of his skin, and closes his eyes. 

"Just breathe." John brushes a kiss against Cam's hair, then lower, right above the line of stitches curving round the edge of Cam's right eye. Cam shivers, his desperation easing out of him. John kisses him again, cupping Cam's cheek. Cam lets his head be turned by the gentle pressure, eyes still closed. Despite that, John's soft kiss to his mouth isn't a surprise. John's lips are a little slick from sucking Cam off, and he opens up easily when Cam deepens the kiss.

They've kissed before, but never like this, in a way that isn't part of sex. Weird as it sounds, it feels more like their friendship than it does like the sex part of it, like this is how they're supposed to fit together and they just never noticed until now.

Cam's back hurts from twisting to kiss John, but he doesn't want to stop, not even enough to find a better position. He's sure John's looking at him – John always looks, likes to look. Cam keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to see what John's seeing. Not wanting to know what happens next, when he thinks that what happens next might be that he says, _I love you, stay with me._

It's one thing to have sex with someone to help deal with trauma, but he's not ruining the best friendship he has because of it.

The thought slices sharp into the haze of comfort and pleasure, and of course John feels the way Cam tenses with it, pulling away almost before Cam's finished the thought.

"Don't." Cam opens his eyes, finds John looking right back at him. John looks away, shutters coming down, but in the split second before he does, Cam sees his own feelings reflected back at him.

He's fuzzy, with pain, with sex, with his near panic attack and sudden revelation, and he can't catch hold of the thought fast enough. John takes his hands back slowly, shifts his weight just enough that they're not touching any more. "You should take your meds," he says, already standing up.

"Right," Cam says stupidly, and doesn't let himself reach for John again.

*

The rest of the evening is awkward, the air between them thick with something neither one of them is ready to put into words. Cam goes to bed half-afraid that they've ruined everything anyway, but when he jerks awake in the dead of night, shouting for his team, John's right there to remind him that he's safe and home.

And if there's a moment, after John's asked if he's okay and before Cam's said that he is, where Cam thinks he could ask John to stay and John would say yes – well, it's a moment, and moments pass.

*

Except.

Except that, Saturday afternoon, John and Cam sit at the kitchen table in a pool of sunlight. John bends his head low over Cam's left hand, gloved fingers smoothing burn salve into the dry, red skin, and Cam can't take his eyes off the back of John's neck, the skin above his collar where Cam rested his hand and felt safe for the first time since he woke up in a cell without his team.

"I –" John says softly, then doesn't say anything else, just keeps smoothing his fingers over Cam's hand. It feels good. Cam wants to curl his hand around John's. He doesn't, and not just because he can still hardly move that hand without the burns cracking.

Cam doesn't say anything. He knows John more than well enough to know it's a waste of time trying to push for him to talk when he doesn't want to.

John's fingers gradually slow, until they're resting, feather light, in the middle of Cam's palm. He still doesn't look up, but he doesn't move away either. Cam's heart speeds up, a weird, anxious anticipation tripping through his nerves.

"You know Lieutenant Dixon?" John asks, almost managing to sound like it's just idle curiosity.

"From SG-12," Cam agrees. She's one of the mass of young officers that round out the SGC teams, a year or two younger than Cadman, a communications specialist. "What about her?"

"After the repeal –" John's fingers lift slightly from Cam's hand and dance restlessly there for a moment. Cam nods, though John's not looking at him – the repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell came through barely three months after he and John joined the SGC. "She was the first officer to come out."

"I know. I think she's got a thing for Cadman."

John laughs, awkward and rusty. "Might be mutual."

Might be more than might – Cam doesn't go out with the general officer pool too often, but he's been in bars enough to see the way Cadman and Dixon lean into each other after a couple of drinks. He suspects that's not where John's going with this, though, and stays silent, watching the back of John's head, waiting. 

"So... The SGC, you know, they don't – it's not a problem here."

Cam's breath catches in his throat, and he tells himself firmly to stop hoping ahead of reality, especially for something he's not even sure he'll still want when he's not so messed up. "I know."

"It wouldn't be a big deal, if it was us. If that was – something we wanted."

"Wanted to be out?" John's fingertips land on Cam's hand again, and he wishes that John would look up. He can read John's silences all right, but it's so much easier when he can look at John's face while he's doing it. 

"Had a reason to want to be out." John swallows audibly, turning his head slightly. "I was – when you were taken, when we were looking for you –"

"John," Cam says quietly. John only forces himself to put his feelings into words when it's really important, and Cam can't let him do it when he doesn't know what his own answer will be.

John shakes his head. "I thought we were going to find you dead, if we even found you." His fingers tap Cam's hand, one brief touch that makes Cam wince. "I was scared," he finishes, so quiet Cam can barely hear him, even in the silent kitchen.

Cam doesn't let his eyes close, but it hardly matters. He's not in the kitchen, he's in a dark, empty cell, afraid that his team are dead, afraid that no-one's coming for him. He's screaming in pain as his hand's burned, he's trying to wisecrack through a mouthful of blood and a face aching with bruises. It took them a week to find him, and the only part of it that Cam can't remember is the moment the team found him – saved him. He remembers being thrown back into the cell, and then he remembers being in front of the stargate, watching the wormhole form as he leaned into John, broken and bleeding against him.

John's hand on Cam's bare fore-arm pulls him back into the apartment and John looking at him, expression shuttered.

"Things would change," Cam says, feeling the words out. "It's easier for kids like Dixon."

John doesn't say anything, just watches him. They've been friends for almost half their lives, through enough traumas that he should be able to trust to this being about timing, not about trauma reaction. Except that this is the first bad thing like this – the first time one of them knew what was happening to the other while it was happening, while there was still the possibility that someone wouldn't come back, and it's different.

"We couldn't keep it – we shouldn't keep it a secret. Cadman and Lorne would figure it out, and we can't ask them to risk their careers, John."

"So we'd split up the team." It's the sort of reckless, instant fix that Cam's gotten used to from John, but there's something more behind it this time. Like it's the end of a thought, not the start of one. 

"Just like that? I got captured and we almost had sex and now you want to come out and split up the team and, what, move in together or something?"

"Yes," John says, the same certainty still there. It's a sharp contrast to the edge of hysteria that Cam feels. 

"You can't decide that right now," Cam says, and he thinks that what he means might be that he can't decide that right now. He can't close his eyes without memories rushing over him, can't sleep without nightmares. This is not the place to be making potentially life-changing decisions. 

"I'm not deciding," John says quietly. He ducks his head, and when he looks up again, he's dropped most of the shutters around his expression, letting Cam read him. And yeah, that's not decisiveness that Cam sees – it's certainty, realization, finally acknowledging something that's been true for a long time.

Cam tries not to think about what John's seeing on his face.

"I can't," he says. "I don't know what's happening."

It might be the most terrifying thing he's ever said. It feels like the worst thing he's ever done to John and their friendship. Except that John doesn't pull away, or try to laugh it off. He just watches Cam, until Cam wants to look away.

"I want to be with you," John says finally. "It would be good, I think."

Cam opens his mouth to argue, but the words aren't there. He doesn't _want_ to argue. He wants John in his kitchen, asking him for this, and he wants to say yes. Yes, because he wants it. 

Yes, even though he's afraid of what he'll want in a month's time. Yes, because that fear is still less terrifying than closing a door that's always been slightly ajar.

"How about we make a deal?" And John must see something in the way Cam's looking at him, because his voice is lighter, and he's almost smiling. It's enough to make Cam smile back – this is John, his closest, oldest friend. "If you want to try, we give it three months. If we're still together, if we still want it, then we go to O'Neill, get him to sort out the fraternization rules."

"And if not?" Cam's not sure whether he means, _if I don't want to try_ or, if it doesn't work out. Maybe both.

"Then we'll still be friends," John says, like it's that easy. 

Cam still thinks this is bad timing, as much trauma and fear as something else, but it's the something else as well. "I want to try," he says, and he was wrong before. That's the most terrifying thing he's ever said. 

It's worth it though, for the smile that takes over John's whole face, and the way John slides his free hand up to the back of Cam's neck. It's even worth it for the way John's still wearing a medical glove smeared with burn salve when he nuzzles at Cam's cheek, and, when Cam turns into it, kisses him soft and warm on his mouth. 

_I love you,_ Cam thinks. In that moment, he knows that he'll say it out loud one day. Even if that certainty doesn't last, he lets himself sink into the moment, for as long as he can have it.


End file.
